Pleading
by Frodolover614
Summary: (no flames) I suck at summaries. This is my first fic in a while but anyways, and so you know, it contains my original char. Kit is being chased by her father and his henchmen, trying to hold a terrible secret to only herself and her lover. But her brot
1. Default Chapter

Pleading  
  
The Lady Galadriel stood at the borders of Lothlorien, her husband Celeborn at her side, her clear eyes, blue as the brightest of sapphires, roaming over the vast landscape leading to her home. Lord Celeborn murmured something about leaving and waiting for their granddaughter at their chamber, but Galadriel pushed his arm away. Princess Anorlach of Mirkwood, their flesh-and-blood granddaughter, was coming. The Lady had seen her arrival in the Mirror when she had been uncertain as to what the future held for her second daughter and her grandchild.  
The distant pounding of hoofbeats caught the Lady's attention, and she stared unblinking at the horizon until a speck of chestnut rounded a hill beyond, vibrant against the cloudy sky. A small cry of joy escaped Galadriel's lips, but it soon turned into a moan of despair. As horse and rider drew nearer, she could see the chestnut mare, rightly call-named Free, was in a lather, panting with the effort of keeping her swift pace, and Anorlach, mounted unsteadily on her exquisite steed, eyes wide, was struggling to keep her balance in the saddle as she clutched at her belly, reeling with sickness.  
As they pulled the princess from the saddle, checking for any wounds or abnormalities that might have made her thus, they heard a rasping pant: "Save me."  
Galadriel glanced up at the horizon, and saw nothing, but her quick ears caught the shrill neighing of many horses, and panic was instilled within her. Half dragging, half carrying her granddaughter in one arm, she took Free's reins with the other and set off at a swift jog, sparing her husband an encouraging glance as he stepped forth to deal with the opposing riders, although it was unneeded. The duo had just disappeared into the shadow of the mallorn trees when the riders crested the nearest hill, unaware that the one that they sought had been taken by her kin.  
The leader of the riders was King Thranduil of Mirkwood, Anorlach's father, and he looked absolutely furious, brutally driving on his bay stallion with pounding heels clapping to heaving sides, ignoring pinned ears and purposeful stumbling. He reined in his steed from a full-out gallop, the horse's flaring nostrils hardly two inches from Celeborn, but the Lord didn't even flinch, only reached up his hand to pat the stallion's sweaty neck.  
"Where is my daughter?" demanded Thranduil, fixing his cold blue-gray gaze on Celeborn's face. The Lord of Lorien thought quickly.  
"She has perished," he answered, keeping his voice steady and calm. "We found her hanging on an unfamiliar chestnut stallion, dead. We have the horse and the body is being properly buried at the moment."  
"What?" exclaimed a young male Elf with white blonde hair, urging his palomino filly forward the same way Thranduil had his mount. "She is my pleasure slave; it is plainly shown by the leather binding her left wrist with a crescent moon engraved upon it. How can she be dead?" Celeborn winced at the word "slave", even though he knew well how women were treated in Mirkwood, save his second daughter, wife of Thranduil.  
"We found there was an arrow buried in her side, straight through her heart," replied Celeborn, hiding half the truth while gazing accusingly at the bows and quivers hanging from the Elves' naked backs. With that, he turned and went back to his chamber, leaving the Mirkwood riders speechless and left only to turn and spur their steeds back home. 


	2. Despair

Despair  
  
Nearly a week later, Anorlach woke, and groggily turned over on her side. A sharp pain shot through her ribs, and she instantly sat up, gasping for breath as she gazed at this blurry room she lay in, her wide eyes, mirror images of her grandmother's, staring as if everything was unfamiliar, even though it truly was. A deep familiar voice whispered a request into her ear, and she instantly obeyed it, gently easing herself back into her pillows with a moan. Soon enough, she gained her vision back, and sighed lovingly at the sight of the face that loomed in her sight. It was Boromir. But where was she?  
"Good morning," murmured Boromir jokingly, laying his hand on her cheek gently, careful not to hurt her in any way with his weight in muscle. Despite his amused tone, the look on his face was grave. He had terrible news, too much of a burden for himself, much less his love, his beloved Kit. He opened his mouth to tell her since she was silent for so long, but she interrupted him before he had a chance to speak.  
"Where am I?" she asked, gazing quizzically around the bright sunlit room which somehow seemed so familiar. She then turned her eyes to his, allowing herself to let her mind sink deep into his beautiful sea green pupils, which held so much warmth and love, yet a bitter piece of sadness was held there. Boromir leaned in close to kiss her softly, as gently as he could, before framing her pallid face in his callused hands.  
"You're in my room, back in Gondor," he said, lifting his head and letting his gaze roam over her perfectly rounded body. He had seen a few Elven maidens in his time, and they were all very well, but the one that lay in his bed was by far the most attractive. The maidens he had seen had been as thin and ethereal as a winter breeze, much less full and curvy as the ladies that lived in his home of the White City. But Kit, oh his Kit was like autumn in its prime. She could be as tempermental and as stubborn as a mule, yet there was another chance she could be sensual and quiet. Her bust protruded out from her skin like hills into white clouds, and her lips were as red as freshly picked cherries.and her eyes bluer than the sky.and her hair.he couldn't ever describe her beauty in one sitting. It was said that the Elves were airy, but not Anorlach. He could imagine her as a rose rising out from the earth, or a flame leaping towards the midnight sky. But the thing that had been tickling him from the back of his mind rose to his tongue, but he couldn't let it out just yet. He was only nineteen, hardly old enough to be what he was, and his glorious Kit, she was the same age as he in her kind's figuring. Both of them were barely of age to be married, even to be in love. He couldn't.but he had to.  
"Kit," he began, drawing a deep breath and locking his gaze on her own eyes before plunging on. "This is not easy for me to tell you, but I must.you're a mother. You hold my child. It was confirmed by the physicians this very morning."  
For a moment, his darling was silent, staring at him with a mixture of wonder and disbelief shining in her eyes. Then she started to giggle. Boromir couldn't understand what was so amusing about a situation like this.  
"Why do you laugh?" he yelled, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her hard. He instantly regretted this action, for as soon as he gripped her arms, she cried out in pain and commenced to weep as her arrow wound was ripped open and began to bleed anew. Every nerve in her body felt as if it were on fire.  
"Oh, my Kit," Boromir whispered, bending down to kiss away all her tears, and embrace her close. "I apologize with all my heart. I did not mean to harm you, but you must believe me. I am a father, and you the mother of the child that I sired. It rests within you." Then he himself began to shed silent tears of guilt and forlorn for his beloved who now had to endure all this pain and the humiliation her kind would subject her to, just for falling in love with a human, with a man of Gondor. 


	3. Kiss

Kiss  
(Boromir's recovered dream)  
  
Boromir was surprised to see the Lady Anorlach standing on the parapet of the gate into Minas Tirith facing northeast, her long and tangled locks, the crimson of wine, blowing wildly on the wind of the approaching storm. She did not stir even as Boromir touched her hand, her knuckles white as snow as she clutched the edge of the wall. Her eyes remained closed, whatever color that had ever been in her face steadily fading from her flesh, rendering her as pale as a ghost. Finally, as the rain began to gently fall from the swirling clouds above and smote her face, she awoke from the trance-like state.  
"What is it, my lord?" Anorlach said, releasing her grip from the stone. Her voice now had an attractive huskiness to it, as if it had not been used in days. She, in most likely hood, had not, Boromir thought. She had fallen into a strange depression the way his mother had, but nonetheless, he felt a shiver crawl down his spine and back up again. It was because of a mixed sensation of desire and despair: he could not bear to lose another loved one.  
"I am not your lord," Boromir whispered into the downpour as it pounded against the rock of the White City. He wanted so much to kiss her, but he did not want to scare away such a high-strung, beautiful creature...but almost against his will, he stepped forward and took the hand that still rested on the wall. The look in her perfect eyes melted away all fear of her temper. But suddenly, he was aware of eyes watching him from above. He knew it was his father, glaring down at them as rain lashed the glass of the windows, glowering in disapproval.  
"Then what am I -"  
"Meet me here tonight at midnight...I'll be waiting for you..."  
  
Impatiently, all throughout the night, Boromir had watched the laggard progress of the crescent moon as it slid up in the black sky until he could see it no longer. It was then that he quietly slipped on the cloak that hung from his hand and snuck out the door with hardly a sound.  
Anorlach was waiting for him there, once again facing to the northeast, still as marble until Boromir called out her name softly in the darkness. She turned her head slowly, as if unwilling to move, and Boromir saw that her face was streaked with tears. A pang of guilt smote his heart: he knew he had caused this grief by keeping her here. He turned around and started to leave when she cried out.  
"Don't leave me!" she whimpered. Boromir pivoted on one heel, finding that her lips were trembling with the effort of trying not to weep. Gently, Boromir went to her, embracing her close to him. She eagerly accepted his kindness, burying her head in the crook of his neck as hot tears splashed down upon his skin. Nearly half of an hour passed until she pulled away from his arms, pressing her lips into his quickly. As she turned to leave, she flashed him a quick smile until she was engulfed by the shadows. Boromir slowly raised his hand to his tingling lips. Why did she do that?  
  
Boromir did not see her that morning, nor for the rest of the day, or any time for the next week. He had heard from the boys that she worked with in the stables that she had taken her mare to the gate, bid the gatekeeper open it, and let the mare free, following her into the forest nearby. Boromir chastised himself for this: he had bred the mare to his own stallion on a double purpose; he wanted to mingle the positive aspects of the bloodlines, as Free's heritage was very good as was Hasufel's, and he wanted to give the foal to her as a gift. She had told of the day she was born, in the middle of March, and the foal, hopefully a filly, would be born by then. He had hoped that she would not notice, but he had been a fool. He knew that she was an Elven, and even at this early stage in Free's pregnancy, Anorlach would be able to tell. He decided that the next day, before dawn so his father would never notice his leaving until he woke, to search for her.  
  
The sun was rising over the hills as Boromir led his bay stallion outside and mounted, nudging his horse off into a rocking canter. A bird fluttered by Hasufel's head, causing him to vault sideways, his eyes rolling in mock terror as he let out a long squeal shrill enough to wake the dead. Boromir harshly slapped him on his neck, the noise muffled by the stallion's thick black mane but the force hard enough to sting, and urged him back again into the pace he had set before. The forest loomed nearby...and suddenly, they were plunged into its darkness...  
With a light pull on the reins, Boromir eased Hasufel into a slow trot, posting in time to the beat of the stallion's hooves, and he patted his horse's neck in praise. His green eyes finally adjusted to the gloom and he began gazing about for any sign of her. Large hoofprints lay in the dust before him. He followed them into a clearing by a stream where he found a beautiful sight. He halted Hasufel, dismounted and tied the reins to a dangling branch before he turned again to gaze longingly at the Lady Anorlach as she lay sleeping on the grass by the stream, Free grazing on the other bank in a protective stance even though her head was down. The mare watched him very carefully, but Boromir didn't care. Anorlach was so beautiful. He stretched himself down beside her and folded his arms around her... 


End file.
